Grey Gold
by falcon1701
Summary: Kirk, Spock, and McCoy on a shuttle craft, after This Side of Paradise, relationships are strained and Kirk is curious and Spock is evasive. They receive a distress call and respond . . . Kirk/Spock, bonus points to those who know who the Xyrillian are and can guess where this story may be headed . . . Reviews are love, thank you.
1. Chapter 1

It's difficult to be fight with some who never really thought you were fighting. Jim leaned his head on the back of the shuttle craft seat and pressed his teeth together until his jaw hurt. His eyes blurred slightly on the monotone hues of the interior of the small craft, the pressure and confinement causing a dull ache at each temple. Every so often the intense reality of his tin can existence hit him with a panicked, mammalian intensity furious to the point of clawing at the walls, wanting grass, sun, and sky and dirt under his feet. He flares his nostrils, longing for the stir of a cool rich breeze across a rolling field from years ago.

They had separated from the Enterprise, with plans to rendezvous once Scotty had repaired a faulty atmospheric unit on the Gallia Terraforming Project while they assisted a stranded vessel near Tiktra III.

In the back of the shuttle McCoy was sprawled, feet out, snoring slightly, hands clasped over a tricorder on his lap that he was hugging like a stuffed animal. It made Jim smile. His friend had always had that ability, to sleep anywhere. Admirable. Enviable, his fatigue added. And something not permitted as captain, no matter his level of exhaustion.

Their last assignment, wherein spores compromised nearly the whole crew and caused mutiny and chaos, had been appropriately processed, transmitted to Starfleet, and stored, harmlessly into their memory tapes. Regardless of any resounding affects.

He glanced to his right to see the Vulcan staring into the viewfinder. The way he was so motionless, without even any indication of breath across his shoulders, he could have been a two dimensional image painted onto the inside of the Galileo.

"Spock, I can't help but feel you are avoiding me."

"That feeling is incorrect, Captain," his first officer said, not looking up, "I am merely beginning to plot our intercept course."

"We have . . . " the captain spun his chair back and forth idly, "An hour, more than?"

"Regardless, the task will have to be accomplished eventually."

The captain stared at him and let out a long sigh to which there was little if any response. Kirk was watching close enough that he saw the Vulcans ear bend slightly toward him. It was odd to see the mobility in his ears, aggravating that it was necessitated by his inability to face him.

Spock had missed their morning workout together. And had not had dinner with Jim as they usual did after they shared a rotation. They had spoken, briefly, this morning before boarding the shuttle but the conversation had compounded and fractured and Jim felt reactive and Spock felt . . . squirrely. Jim knew that sighing to express his discomfort would solve nothing, but he didn't like feeling at odds with Spock. He thought for a moment that he took for granted sometimes how well they worked together, the ease in which they spoke and moved together, despite all their differences.

Of course, on the spore planet Spock had been like a completely different person. Or maybe more like himself than ever, Jim thought fearfully. That person had been defiant, impulsive, and disrespectful. Even violent. The sound of crunching metal only inches from his ears, the impact of Spock's fist barely missing his own skull, flashed quickly and unwanted through his mind. But that Spock had also been playful and light-hearted. He had lacked the heaviness and strain, the pressure that often darkened the Vulcan's eyes. Jim couldn't help but think that it hurt him to hold all that back. All that he'd seen on the planet, the burning desire for love and connection, the way Spock had been physical in a way that Jim had never seen, more present in his body, less in his head, whether it was climbing trees or kissing that girl. And he thought of the anger and self-hate, the anger Jim had had to evoke, in order to save him. But he wasn't Vulcan, he didn't have the same priorities, he supposed, or the same fears.

"Music?"

"Music, Captain?"

"Would you like to listen to any?"

"No, thank you,"

"Hungry?"

"No, thank you."

"We could—"

"Captain, I am collating, please desist your questioning."

"I don't like that we are fighting." Jim said simply, again.

This caused Spock to sit back, "We are not fighting," he said pointedly.

"Oh? Jim had trouble keeping the satisfaction out of his voice, a smile creeping to a corner of his mouth.

"Captain, I do not wish to continue talking about this."

"Why not?"

"Because it is unnecessary."

"I'm not used to being stood up."

"I apologize."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Okay," Jim said, slapping his knees, feeling like they had made another pointless lap, "Maybe I'm just imagining this, all of it, maybe it's my own . . . feelings."

Spock was back in the view finder, "Perhaps,"

"Alright," he stood up and ambled over to the counsel where he leaned against the warm metal that hummed and buzzed, crossing his ankles and arms, "Maybe it's just human of me to want to talk about things that happen. To me. To us."

"The spores caused me to act against the ship and . . . against you."

"You and everyone else."

"I . . .," Jim watched the fabric of his blue uniform stretch as he took in a long breath, "Am having difficulty sleeping, Captain. I am unable to medicate fully."

"The spores,"

"Yes," Spock lowered his arms and for the first time and looked up at his captain.

Spock had not told his captain, he had barely admitted it to himself, the level of effort it was taking him to maintain his composure. He knew it would get easier. The doctor had assured him the affect was temporary, like too many brandies he'd said, and there was no need to worry. But Spock didn't feel strong enough for his daily routine with the captain. His emotions were still heightened, his control more permeable. He did not lack the desire to be with Jim. In fact it was all he wanted. And in that, it was dangerous.

"It may take some time, Mr. Spock," Jim assured, putting a hand on the alien's shoulder. Feeling the odd warmth, warmer than any human body, under his hand. He saw Spock's eyes close and his nostrils flare.

"Captain," he said, taking a slightly shaking breath, "Please, if you could refrain from touching me,"

"Oh!" Jim picked up his hand quickly, "I'm sorry."

"Until I recuperate, as you know, my species is very sensitive to touch."

"Yes," Jim said, hands on his thighs, "I'd heard that." Jim couldn't help but think of all the times he'd touched him, casually, maybe in ways Spock didn't like, "Do I . . . touch you too often?"

Spock thought for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jim standing close to him and, despite his efforts to restrain himself, to keep his mind contained, he could sense an almost golden light radiating out of the man next to him. He could feel Jim's mind, so sincere, so bright, spilling over his weakened barriers, lightening the dark corners of his mind, swelling through him.

He pulled together his thoughts, feeling his face muscles twitch, his pulse throb in his neck, reverberating throughout his whole body from his heart in his side down to between his legs, his blood singing with the thrill of mental contact. And for a moment, just a moment, he let himself. And then from the reaches of his mind, a dark figure that was as hard and unmovable as granite, that reminded him of his father, violently swung his mind back into place with one resounding word, _unacceptable_.

"No," Spock said finally.

"Is it a . . . telepathic thing?"

"Partially," his first officer answered, "It is also not as socially acceptable. It is not polite."

"Oh," Jim smiled, "Didn't know I was being rude."

"Only if another Vulcan would see," Spock seemed more relaxed, "They would find it . . . explicit."

"Well now there's a word," Jim almost laughed.

"Vulcans are touch-telepaths. Of course some are stronger than others and do not require physical contact,"

"Like you?" Jim thought of the Horta.

"Yes," Spock took a long breath through his nostrils, "Though my father would be redescent to acknowledge that fact," he frowned, "He has always struggled to give credit to things one has not, in his eyes, earned,"

"So you are naturally . . . gifted, and he wanted sweat and blood."

"In effect,"

"Can you read my mind?" Jim asked, amused, then paused to think and added, "Have you?"

"I do attempt some level of decorum, out of posterity."

"Cuiouser and curiouser, Mr. Spock," Jim smiled again, "So if I, and excuse me, I know you just told me not to . . . " he reached his hand out to skim the top of the Vulcan's hand and his fingers moved to find some soft fur just under the hem of his sleeve, "Touch you," Spock looks up, his lips parting, "What happens?"

Spock had an intense flash of, yes, Jim's good nature and optimism but underneath, secluded and confined, was Jim's fear and loneliness, thoughts specific to their last mission where he was alone on the bridge, rejected, helpless, and how it had affected him, made him feel separate and . . . alien? Spock met Jim's eyes at that thought and he struggled to say, "Captain . . ."

Jim searched Spock's rich brown eyes, wondering if he was supposed to do something, curious if he could feel anything, sense any of Spock's mind, but didn't think he could, "Anything?"

"Fascinating," Spock said, finally as Jim's thumb moved back and forth slightly, igniting his nervous system, "I am the only Vulcan on board, and you are, one among many humans . . . and yet, you feel so alone, Jim."

A sudden flashing and beeping on the computer broke the moment, Jim's hand jumping from the Vulcan as if he had been burned and also jolted McCoy awake.

"Spock!" McCoy shouted, almost jumping to his feet, "I thought you said you could drive this thing!"

Spock took a breath, the tendrils of Jim's mind falling away in a rush of sudden emptiness, "I assure you, Doctor, I am well trained in shuttle operations," he then directed his attention to his view finder.

"What's the commotion, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked, straightening himself up. He noticed his heart rate had increased but took a slow breath to calm it.

He wasn't sure how to process this information. He was getting to know his first officer, sometimes things you learn about people surprise you, excite you. Kirk remembered a classmate whose skin had turned different colours depending on their mood. But telepathy? He wasn't sure what he had experienced, what he had sensed, if he could sense anything with his human brain, but he knew it would have to wait. He'd speak to his first officer, his friend, later.

"The Xyrillian ship has drifted some way from the coordinates they provided us. Intercept is now in 26 minutes. We will be entering communication range in 7 minutes."

"What happened?"

"Running scans now, one moment," Spock said.

McCoy got up and moved to stand next to his comrades, pushing a hand through his hair, smoothing the back of it with his palm. He's leaning against the empty chair, grumbling slightly at not getting all the sleep he'd wanted. He glanced quickly at Spock who looked slightly greener than usual and to Kirk who was breathing heavily. He frowned, but said nothing about it, "We'll need to suit up sooner, and the injections will take some time to kick in."

"Alright, let's get to work," Jim said, removing himself from Spock's proximity, "Spock once we are in communications range hail the vessel."

"Yes, sir."

Jim clapped McCoy on the shoulder, "I'm ready for that cocktail now," he grinned.

"Just what the doctor ordered," he shot a sharp look at Spock who wasn't looking but didn't need to be, "Will you convince him of that?"

"Not necessary, Doctor," Spock said while adjusting the dial on his screen.

"Like hell it's not, the pressure in that ship would make every last blood vessel in your body pop open,"

"Vulcan is—"

"Not nearly as high pressured as this, you'll wear the suit, take the medicine, or you'll begin to hallucinate uncontrollably and pass out at our feet."

"Captain it appears that the Xyrillian ship, with its inoperative propulsion system, has been pulled into the gravitational field of a passing asteroid," Spock continued, unphased, "Its speed has also increased. Without shields the stress on the hull will likely cause a breach."

"Well, it is a rescue mission," the captain sighed, "Let's rescue."

McCoy nodded and moved to the back of the shuttle where his medical bag was and began to prepare the hyosprays.

Jim looked over at Spock, who was still, frustratingly, looking at his instruments, "Spock, I know you don't think you need the injection," he said, placing a hand on the alien's shoulder, "But what's the harm?"

Spock looked up at him, his eyes moving to watch McCoy for a moment than looking into Jim's eyes. He leaned back in his chair and took a breath, observing the pleading in Jim's eyes. Knowing after what he'd seen in his captain's head, the continued bitterness, however good-natured between himself and McCoy was not helpful, nor would get them any closer to the rest Jim needed, "You're right, Jim."

Jim kept his hand there a moment longer, then removed it and went to the storage closet where the environmental suits were stored. He pulled one out, threw it onto the back of his chair and lifted his tunic over his head.

"This bears repeating," McCoy said as he approached, adjusting the hypo, "Humans typically spend days becoming adjusted to the Xyrillian environment, even with a pressurized suit and medication, we won't be able to spend much time over there."

"Get in, get out, understood, Doctor," Jim said. He felt goose-bumps rise on his skin in the cool shuttlecraft air. Standing there, bare chested, shivering, he thought what strange animals humans were. How defenceless really. Against the elements anyway. Not even a coat of fur to stay warm or protect the skin.

McCoy, unceremoniously jammed the hypo in his bare arm. Almost instantly he felt like he was falling down, and nearly when he felt the room lurch suddenly counter clockwise, his blood and heart beat roaring in his ears. He swayed, an arm reaching out for support when from behind him he felt hot, strong arms catch him, one hand on his lower back, the other below his collar bone.

"Captain," Spock breathed, adjusting a hand around to Jim's hip.

"I'm ok," Jim gasped, "I'm good, just," he exhaled strongly, "A little sudden," he managed a smile and looked at Spock over his shoulder, the other man's face close to his. And this time he almost felt it. Did he? Concern? Was that his own feeling, or Spock's? Jim's nostrils automatically flared, catching the scent of the Vulcan, almost sweet, earthy, "Quite the concoction, Doctor."

"Glad you like it," McCoy grumbled, then injected himself. He sat down immediately afterward, pulling his boots off.

Jim turned to Spock and smiled, somewhat sheepishly, "I think I'm good now,"

Spock looked down to realize his arms were still on the other man, "Sorry, Captain,"

Jim shook his head slightly, "Not a problem."

Spock stepped back, moving to the closet to grab his own suit. He set it down, pulled off his own tunic and, though reluctantly, stepped over to the doctor.

"Ready, Doctor."

"Logical choice, Spock."

McCoy stood up, at the same time pulling up the arms of his suit, grabbing the hypo and giving the last of it to the Vulcan.

Spock remained standing, steadily breathing in and out. Though he already had a faster heartrate he felt his body react to the mixture. Jim was unfastening his trousers and pulling them down, balancing on one leg to pull off each pant leg. Spock counted each breath in and out and listened to the roar of his blood in his ears. In and out. The captain was well muscled, though not bulky, and always moved with complete confidence. The man had light blonde hair on his body, the only place it darkened was on his chest, but only slightly.

Spock was fascinated by the way his skin was hued such a rich, warm colour. It was so unusual compared to what he knew on Vulcan. The cool, greenish hues on his own body were nothing like this. Spock's eyes remained fixed on the human, longer than he intended and he felt his face flush all the way to the tops of his ears. He continued dressing himself.

Once finished he returned to the computer, sitting with his helmet on is lap.

"Captain, we are in communications range."

"Good," Jim said.

"Hailing frequencies open, sir."

"On speaker, Mr. Spock."

"Xyrillian vessel, this is Captain Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, responding to your distress call, please respond."

Static. Distortion. No answer.

"Maybe they're all unconscious," McCoy mused, "Or worse. Maybe we're too late."

"Xyrillian vessel, respond please,"

Still nothing.

"Has there been a breach already, Spock?"

"No, Captain," Spock responded, "Sensors are not picking up anything."

Then, quietly, a voice, "Federation?"

Kirk's breath caught in his throat, "Yes, we heard your distress call, we are prepared to come aboard and assist in repairs or help any wounded."

"Our . . . atmospheric . . . . broken . . . can't . . . "

"Don't worry, we will be right over," Jim responded and looked at his friends who both had looked of concern, but resolve on their faces.

"Spock, get us over there."

"Yes Captain, setting a course,"


	2. Chapter 2

Their shuttle docked in a small, circular shuttle bay. Once the outer doors had closed they secured their helmets, pressurized their suits, and opened up the door of the shuttle.

Spock adjusted his tricorder in front of him and paused to observe the readings, "There is an excess of oxygen in the air captain," Spock observed, eyebrow raising, "From an unknown source."

Kirk took a moment to look around the ship, fascinated by the bizarre structure of the bulkheads, the way they arched and flowed into each other. He reached out a gloved hand to touch the vegetation growing up the sides of the walls, onto the ceiling.

"Wow," he said, wishing he could touch and feel his surroundings instead of being locked inside a pressurized suit.

"It's like the tropics in here," McCoy griped, wiping the outside of his helmet with his gloved hand.

"Come on," Jim said, "Let's find the bridge," he paused, unsure, "If they have one."

As they walked, Spock continued to take scans, "Captain, there is almost enough oxygen in this atmosphere for us to breathe."

"No wonder the Xyrillian are hurting," McCoy said, "I wonder what's causing it."

"Unknown, Doctor," Spock said as they rounded a leafy bend in the corridor, "Though you are correct; if their atmosphere is not corrected, they will die."

Kirk was leading the way, remembering in the back of his brain something his brother told him, "If you are ever lost in a maze, keep turning right" and thus did so, almost on instinct. He often marvelled at some of the consistencies in the universe, like symmetrical faces, living things being afraid of fire, and command centre always being, well, in the centre of ships.

The landscape, and it indeed was a living landscape, seemed to change before their eyes, where before there had just been moss and leaves now vines and branches grew. Twisted thorn covered branches began to line the edges of the corridor and narrowed their clearance throughout.

"Be careful, Captain, these thorns look quite dangerous," Spock advised, then after looking into his tricorder, "These plants are perhaps the cause of the increased oxygen in the ship."

"Fascinating," Jim said, having slowed down to navigate his way through the brambles.

"Isn't that his line?" McCoy said, shaking his head at Jim.

"Well it is fascinating, these plants don't even have sunlight it's—" Jim's forward movement was suddenly halted and he stumbled backwards, grabbing at his arm. A large vine had twisted, about shoulder height, into his path and he hadn't had time to move.

"Captain!" Spock exclaimed. A flash of red, suddenly lit in his own mind, advised Spock that his captain had been injured.

"I'm okay, Spock, I'm okay," he had twisted sideways, out of the way of the branch, closer to Spock. He was holding his arm and looked wide eyed, "Did that thing reach out and grab me?"

McCoy had a hand on his shoulder and was running his medical scanner over the wound, "If it did, we have bigger problems," he sighed, anxiously looking over his shoulder, "The wound is superficial, no evidence of a toxin," he put his scanner away and rummaged through his bag for the protoplaser, "At least none that my tricorder can detect,"

"Doctor, that is not comforting."

"I wasn't aware you needed comforting, Mr. Spock," McCoy growled.

"Bones," Jim interrupted, a hand in the air, "I'm more worried about the suit," he smiled behind the steamy glass of his helmet, "Got a needle and thread in there?" Kirk tried adjusting the shreds of his suit but a large part of his arm was still exposed.

"No, I'm afraid not," McCoy finished with the protoplaser, the wound closed, then did another scan of Jim's body, "Your vitals are stable but your heartrate is climbing,"

"Captain, perhaps you should return to the shuttle," Spock suggested.

"Let's not overreact here, Spock," he patted the Vulcan on the shoulder, "This isn't the first time my shirt's been ripped, I'm fine."

"For the time being," McCoy corrected.

"Perhaps a low level phaser blast would . . . assure that the plants cooperate," Spock offered.

"Good idea, Mr. Spock," Kirk sad, reaching for his phaser and taking aim down the centre of the corridor, "On three," Spock adjust his body sideways and aimed, "One, two,"

They both fired, the phasers glowing hotly in the dim light, sending a wave of heat towards the three men. The plants began to wilt after several seconds and they lowered their weapons.

Kirk extended his foot toward one of them and kicked the vine, looking for movement, "That got'em,"

"Unfortunate," Spock mused as he put away his weapon, "A missed research opportunity; sentient plants."

"Violent, vicious plants," Jim added, feeling sweat trickle down the side of his face. He really hoped there was no toxin coursing through his body.

"Jim!" McCoy exclaimed, his attention focused within the twisted bundle of vines. Kirk looked and was startled. From within the tangle of black vines was a face and eyes, wide eyes staring up at them.

"Hold on!" Kirk shouted, "We'll get you out of there," he hesitated for only an instant, observing the mean thorns and potential for danger, "Bones, what do you have in there, anything like a knife or a—"

"Here!" McCoy pulled out a laser scalpel, tossing it to the captain, "Squeeze the trigger on the bottom and press the button on the top at the same time to operate."

Kirk knelt down and began slicing through the branches. After every cut he made he pushed the braches away, feeling more cuts, more holes in his suit, as he reached his arm closer and closer to the trapped alien. The plants were so thick they hadn't seen them in there, he hadn't meant to fire on an innocent person, he hadn't known. He made one last slice through the largest branch and felt the alien's hand clasp his. He braced himself and pulled, feeling the alien move toward him, "Bow you head," he told the alien, "Be careful of the thorns,"

The alien scrambled, head down, arms reaching for anything they could, grabbing onto Kirks shoulders and arms. Finally, on their feet, still holding onto Kirk, he saw that it was a female. Her wide blue eyes were rimmed in red and her chest was heaving, not just from the excursion. She smiled though, and looked in wonder on her rescuer.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked.

The alien nodded rapidly, one hand on her chest, the other still holding onto Kirk's arm.

"Where is your captain? What happened here?"

"These plants," she gasped, "Picked them up, from a planet . . . "

McCoy was running his medical tricorder over her, his brows knitted together, lips tight as he looked to the captain, shaking his head, "She can't breathe, Captain,"

"An invasive species?" Spock inquired, taking a step forward, standing next to Kirk. Standing closer he could feel the captains discomfort, the beat of his heart, the way his lungs struggled to breathe the unfamiliar air.

The alien nodded, "Grew so fast, damaged our," her eyes closed as she struggled to find the words, "Our atmospheric systems,"

"The plants are creating an excess of oxygen in your ship," Spock elaborated, "It is likely that your systems were not damaged, only compromised by the by-product of the foreign organism."

She looked at the captain again, holding his hand in hers to her chest, "Can you repair it please. I will show you to the bridge."

"We'll try," Kirk said, then turned to McCoy, "Doctor, stay here, study the plant, determine what it would take to kill it. Spock, you're with me."

McCoy knelt down on the mossy floor and opened his bag as Kirk and Spock followed the alien through the overgrown corridor.

The alien wouldn't let go of Kirk, "This way," she said, "Not far."

She was moving slowly enough she may have needed to hold onto his arm for support. She was physically weak due to lack of breathable air. The captain had his arm around her waist, assuring she would not fall. Spock's eyes shifted briefly over his captain and the alien and he felt an emotion flicker like a flame through his mind. It was not a wholly unfamiliar sensation. Often when they went on away missions the captain would become engaged with the native species. Spock knew the captain was friendly. A useful trait for an explorer. He put people, regardless of species, at ease. Nevertheless, Spock's throat felt tight.

They came to a half open double door, forced or pushed open by the invasive branches. They all carefully crawled over the obstacle to find another alien rising from his seat, presumably the captain, "Ah'ren!" he exclaimed, "You're alive!"

"These humans saved me," she said, letting go of Kirk to embrace the other Xyrillian, "And they are going to repair our ship."

The male Xyrillian sighed with relief, "Our thanks to you," he looked from Kirk to Spock, "I'm Captain Re'len."

"Glad we were nearby. I'm Captain Kirk, this is my first officer, Mr. Spock."

Captain Re'len nodded at them both, "Please, let me show our system."

Kirk nodded to his first officer, "Spock."

Spock followed the alien to assist in repairs. The female alien, Ah'ren, stayed with him, taking a seat in the captain's chair. Kirk's communicator signalled a message so he turned from Ah'ren and flipped open the communicator, "Kirk, here,"

"Captain I think I've got it,"

"Progress?"

"After analysing the plants chemical make-up shouldn't be a problem to whip something up on the shuttle that would kill it."

"That's good news."

"Should be able to vent it through the whole ship, Spock can help with that part."

"Poison?"

"No, wouldn't be harmful to the Xyrillian; us on the other hand, without dermal plating like theirs we'd burn up just like the plants, but they should be alright."

"How long?"

"A couple hours. The shuttle's replicator isn't what the Enterprise's is."

"Get started, I'll pass on the message."

Kirk shut the communicator, turning to Ah'ren, "Good news, our doctor can rid of the plants, Spock will help with any impaired systems; and any injuries to the crew our doctor can look at too."

Ah'ren's face fell into her hands. Kirk knelt in front of her, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she looked up, her eyes, bright in the scaly roughness of her skin, filled with tears, "I am just very grateful. I was so afraid."

Kirk put a hand on her knee and smiled, "You're welcome. If I had the Enterprise here we could maybe help more; you will have to clean up all the dead plants by yourselves. Not an enviable chore."

"I will be glad to see them go," she put a hand over his gloved hand. "Thank you, Captain."

The repairs went as planned. Minor injuries to the crew were treated and McCoy and Spock set up everything to let the "weed-killer" vent through the whole ship. Later when Kirk was making his log entry, safely back on the shuttle, having just gone through decontamination, scrubbed clean of any particulates or microorganisms, he could still see Ah'ren's eyes staring at him from within the thorns. The image sent a shiver down his spine. He was happy to have helped but relieved to be going back home. He wrapped a blanket tighter around his shoulders and closed his eyes. Home, he thought, drifting off to sleep.


End file.
